Hollow
by turtlesparadise
Summary: Reno grapples with guilt following the Sector Seven plate drop; Rude is tasked with bringing his partner back to reality after he detaches from everything for a while. Heavily inspired by "Hollow" by Pantera.


"Whoever it is, go _away_ ," Reno tossed an empty plastic cup against the door for emphasis after hearing one solid knock. His request was duly ignored and he heard the familiar snick of a keycard in the slot, and the door opened. Reno's hackles went up, he instinctively was on guard, though he was altogether not entirely surprised to see that Rude was the one breaking and entering.

"Can't you take a hint…. _partner_?" Reno glared at Rude sourly and threw a dirty sock at him. He glanced at his surroundings, briefly; Reno had gone into burrowing-rat mode, surrounding himself with discarded old laundry, ashtrays loaded with spent cigarettes, empty beer bottles and take-out containers.

Rude sighed and wrinkled his nose in disgust as he entered, tripping over an upturned ottoman. "Have you even left that couch since the last time I was here?"

"Nope." Reno sniffed, rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Just to take a leak. And get more beer."

"Well, you're getting up now. I'm throwing your ass in the shower whether you like it or not." Rude cracked his knuckles and Reno laughed joylessly.

"Ooh, I'm _scared_. Why're you here, anyway?" Reno scowled. "Tseng got you checkin' up on me?"

"No." _Yes_. The lie came easily for Rude, even though he knew Reno would see right through it. It had been a week now since the plate drop, and Reno's evaluation with Shinra's company shrink had come back. Rude hadn't read any of it, didn't want to, but Tseng _had_.

None of it had been good – or entirely unexpected. Reno had jumped right back into work despite medical recommendations that he take a few days off. At first Tseng had been indifferent, thinking that maybe this was the best thing for Reno, to continue working as though nothing had happened. It made no sense to an outsider, but it was how Turks often coped with the stresses of their jobs; by burying themselves in even more work. It held them to a routine, and also provided a distraction.

Reno was an excellent liar, but most especially to himself. "I'm _fine_ ," Reno had told Tseng and Elena and Rude, while inside he was dying. He didn't sleep, _couldn't_ sleep; any time Reno nodded off for just a minute when exhaustion finally won, he could hear their screams, smell the smoke, feel the vibrations of the pillar platform just before the plate released.

Crushed to death, all of them, just like ants, and Reno was the bully who'd kicked over their anthill.

 _Just following orders, just following orders-_

Heidegger had unhelpfully advised Reno to ''be a man" and "get over it." Turks weren't supposed to feel things like remorse, or regret.

But they _did_ ; they were human, at least there remained something human about them beneath the cool and dark professional exterior, the mask they displayed to the rest of the world. Reno went right back to work, quietly, and it was by that silence that the other Turks knew something was really wrong.

And then, he didn't show up to work at all; Tseng dispatched Rude to Reno's apartment to see where he was when he didn't answer his mobile or his land line.

Reno heard Rude speaking now, dimly, as though his voice was being filtered through steel wool, and he blinked at him, eyes unfocused.

"What? You say something?"

"I said, you're getting your ass in that shower," Rude reminded him. "When's the last time you bothered washing yourself? Or eating something? Beer and cheese curls don't count," he added, already anticipating that argument.

"Who _cares_ ," Reno replied drolly. "I don't care about nothin'."

He turned his head briefly and sniffed his armpit, as if he needed actual proof that he stunk. He could still smell the cordite, the smoke and ash, the dust. Such a cloud of dust that rose from the depths of Sector Seven when the plate went down, down, down. It had hung in the atmosphere ever since; the massive cloud filtered out the sun, adding even more of a dreary pall over Midgar than the normal mako pollution that dirtied the once-clear skies above the metropolis.

Reno looked out the window of his upper-plate apartment in Sector Eight every morning for the first few days following the plate drop. Eventually, he grew tired of seeing that lingering cloud, a hateful reminder of what he'd done.

 _I was just doing my fucking job. So what if I grew up there? It was a shithole then, and it's a shithole now. When you become a Turk, you forget what you were before. You_ **have** _to._

It was a lie they all told themselves, acting as if they didn't have lives before they were recruited into the Turks. Save for Veld, though the life he did have had been all but destroyed. Because of the job, because of Shinra, yet Veld stood loyal to the company, even after he lost his family, his daughter.

Reno admired that sort of dedication; it was the man he hoped he someday would be. It was little wonder Veld had been their Commander, with the personal sacrifices he'd made for the job. He wondered sometimes, if Veld had any regrets over any of it.

"It's been a _week_ , Reno," Rude said quietly. He didn't feel the need to elaborate on what had happened a week ago, it wasn't as if Reno didn't know. Wasn't as if _it_ didn't occupy Reno's every waking moment, of which there had been far too many. Rude coughed into a gloved hand, looking around for somewhere to sit that wasn't covered in clutter, found no surface untouched - then decided he would just remain standing.

Rude wondered if it had been a week since Reno showered or otherwise groomed himself. He looked _awful_ , and the lack of sleep showed clearly on his face.

"You look like shit," Rude told his partner, frowning. While it was true that Reno was often unkempt, his normal appearance was more of an unmade bed, rather than… _this_ , this semblance of something that had once been lively and human, now resembling some sort of feral animal. Reno always shaved, was always meticulous about his wildly styled hair; always gave a _damn_ about how he looked without preening, making it look as though he put very little effort into it.

Not anymore. Reno had about four days' worth of growth on his face, dried spittle flecked the corners of his mouth, and he was still in the same clothes he'd been wearing all week – his Turk suit, minus the jacket which was balled up in a pile on the floor.

"Oh, _I_ look like shit, huh?" Reno's eyes narrowed and glared hatefully at Rude. "So? So what? Who the fuck cares what I look like, huh?"

"Yes. You _do_ look like shit," Rude replied, matter-of-fact. "And actually, I don't care what you look like; your hair always looks like the ass end of a red chocobo to me."

Finally, for the first time in a long time, Reno cracked a smile. It was slight and faint, but it was _there_. Rude felt something in his chest clutch, felt a small triumph. "Wow, you really know how to flatter a guy, you _cock_."

Rude snorted, and Reno fell silent again; the air seemed to settle around him as he listened to the sound of his own breathing for a few seconds. _In, and out. In, and out._

 _Breathe,_ the Shinra therapist had told him _. Just breathe._

Reno tried, then immediately his thoughts turned to those under the plate; what had their last breaths been like? Gasping, screaming, crying, begging for help?

Reno knew damned well what Rude was trying to do - subtly – Rude was trying to throw him back in the metaphorical swimming pool without seeming too obvious about it. No wonder Tseng had sent him….Rude knew Reno better than anyone, and he knew how to make Reno confront the elephant in the room while seeming to ignore that it was there. He thought about it again even though he told himself not to – taunting Cloud and the other two, pushing the button, then _laughing_ as he hopped onto the helicopter –

 _I'm a Turk. I do bad things. This isn't news._

 _But….this is the_ **worst** _bad thing I've ever had to do, and I don't know how I feel about that._

"I don't want to talk about it," Reno said flatly, and Rude nodded. "About….y'know….serious stuff."

"I know. And I'm not going to make you. I came over to drag your ass out for some actual food," he replied. "But you're getting your ass in that shower before I let you sit in my car and I am not joking."

Reno laughed – actually laughed this time, and even made the effort of sitting up. "Okay. Okay. I get your point, Rude…." He stroked his chin and grimaced, then attempted a half-assed smile.

"Maybe I'll keep it, not shave. Hey…partner. How do I look with a beard?"

Rude frowned. "Facial hair looks stupid on you. Shave it. Or I will do it for you."

"Fine, fine….." Reno drawled. He stood, unsteady, tried to look levelly at Rude. The blood rushed to his head, Reno grew dizzy, and all too aware that the only food he'd had in his stomach lately was junk food and cheap beer.

"Okay, okay….I'm up. Where're you taking me, Rude? Strip club for brunch?"

Rude smirked, eyed the clock on the wall. "It's _three p.m_. Think we're a little late for brunch. Why don't we get chicken and waffles at the diner?"

"Ooh." Reno's stomach lurched slightly, but he nodded, stifled a yawn as he rubbed his eyes.

"All right," Reno finally agreed. "Give me ten, partner."

He padded down the hall toward the bathroom while Rude opened the blinds, glanced southwest and saw it; the gaping hole in this strange floating city where the Sector seven plate once stood.

Overhead, the clouds began to part, and a sunbeam shone down, reflecting its light off of Rude's sunglasses.


End file.
